


Wherever you find love (it feels like Christmas)

by madasthesea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Sickfic, Sneaky Peter Parker, Snowball Fight, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, mention of car accident, supposedly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: The twelve fluffy days of Christmas challenge on tumblr--Day 9: Red Nose





	1. The First Day of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is very short and very late but it's fine. Title from the Muppets Christmas Carol, because this is a hill I'm willing to die on

 

Tony had been in bed for maybe five minutes when someone knocked on his door and, without waiting for a reply, slowly opened it.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice asked. “I’m cold.”

At that, Tony propped himself on his elbows, perplexed.

“What? Come here, kid,” Tony said, quickly pulling his covers back to let Peter slide under them before the cold air got to him even more. “Are your blankets not working?”

Peter’s bed, both at May’s apartment and in the tower, were outfitted with heated sheets, electric blankets, and several of those stuffed animals that you could warm up in the microwave. They had been gifts from Tony, since Peter had started shivering around Halloween and never stopped.

“Dunno,” Peter mumbled, eagerly pulling Tony’s duvet back over him and curling into Tony’s space. Tony raised an eyebrow—as if a sixteen-year-old genius could just not be able to tell that something wasn’t heating up.

“You don’t _feel_ cold,” Tony observed aloud as he wrapped his arms around the kid. In fact, except for the toes pressed against Tony’s shin, slightly chilled from the walk down the hall, Peter felt like he’d just been snuggled up under an electric blanket.

“I’m freezing,” Peter insisted, his eyes closed as he buried his face against Tony’s chest.

“Uh-huh. And you being ‘cold’ would have nothing to do with the fact that I’ve been gone all week, would it?” Tony asked, trying not to let his amusement color his voice.

“’Course not, Mr. Stark. How would that affect my temperature?”

“How indeed.”

Peter laid very still, as if waiting for Tony to call him out on his lie. The kid would probably be warmer in his own bed, Tony thought, trying to ignore the pang of regret that went through him.

Peter seemed to sense his thoughts, because he curled even closer to Tony, grasped tightly at his t-shirt.

Well, Tony reasoned, it’d just be cruel to send him all the way back. And besides... Tony had missed him, too.

“Now that you mention it, Pete, you _do_ feel cold. You’d better stay here tonight.”

Peter grinned, loose and sleepy in Tony’s hold. Tony shifted onto his back, pulling Peter more securely against him, never removing his arms from around Peter’s frame. So he wouldn’t be cold.  

 


	2. The Second Day of Christmas

He hears about the accident on the news first. When he logs into the Baby-Monitor footage, he watches it again from Peter’s point of view.

“FRIDAY, track the suit.”

“The Spider-Man suit is not active, Boss.”

“Track his phone,” Tony orders. FRIDAY rattles off the address and Tony nods. He should have expected he’d be at his apartment.

He’s in his car and half-way to Queens before he realizes that he doesn’t really have any reason to show up unannounced at the Parkers’ door. It had to happen eventually.

He finds himself knocking on the familiar jamb anyway, staring at the peeling paint as he tries desperately to think of something to say.

The door swings open.

“Mr. Stark,” May Parker greets. She’s in pajamas, her makeup mostly rubbed off. She looks surprisingly pleased to see him.

“May. Is Peter around?” he says, then immediately regrets it when it makes him feel like a kid asking if his friend could come play.

“Right through there.” May steps aside and gestures behind her where the entire living room has transformed into some kind of mini tent city. There are blankets elevated above every inch of the floor, chair backs visible between some of them, holding them aloft. Familiar spider webs are sticking the whole thing together.

“Uh...”

“Just go straight until you find him,” May says, smiling a little. “I’m just ordering dinner.”

She heads into the kitchen, leaving Tony to close the door behind him while he stares a little baffled at the blanket fort set up in front of him.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice calls from the depths. Tony sees his head poke up, lifting a Star Wars patterned comforter.

Tony sighs. Then he kicks off his shoes, sheds his snow-flecked jacket, and then gets on his hands and knees and crawls into the maze of bedwear.

He finds Peter in the central hub, if one could call it that. It’s barely big enough for two people and the old, box TV sitting on the ground a few feet in front of him. The floor is covered in pillows and thick quilts, and Peter is curled up in yet another blanket, leaning against the couch. There’s just enough light from the TV screen to see that Peter’s eyes are red.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says, trying to ignore the indignity of crawling around on the floor. He settles next to Peter against the couch.

“You saw?” Peter asks, his voice subdued.

“I did. Wanted to come check on you.” It’s never easy, losing someone you’re trying to protect. And, as far as Tony was aware, this was Peter’s first time.

There was nothing Peter could have done to stop the car accident. Slick roads and speeding never mixed well. It wasn’t Peter’s fault that he hadn’t been able to stop the truck from hitting that woman as it careened into the sidewalk. But that didn’t change the fact that it had been Peter that had held her hand while she took her last breaths. It wouldn’t stop him from feeling responsible.

“I appreciate that,” Peter says, and he sounds sincere. “I’m ok, though. I mean... I don’t know. May’s looking after me. Going out of her way to make me feel better.”

Tony takes another look around him at the blankets and pillows, the Christmas movie DVD cases scattered about. He’s surprised, honestly. He’d expected to find Peter hiding in his room, pretending to do his homework while he had a meltdown. It’s what Tony would have done. But he should have known better—the Parkers were much better at the whole family thing than Tony ever would be.

Speaking of May, she appears a moment later, informing them that dinner was on its way.

“I should go,” Tony immediately says. May doesn’t move from where she’s blocking the only exit.

“No, stay,” May says, waving him off. “I ordered plenty of food, and we were just about to start A Santa Clause.”

“No, really,” Tony argues, and then he sees Peter’s face. His eyes are puffy and hopeful and his hair’s a mess and his pajama t-shirt—Captain America’s shield, the traitor—is about two sizes too big and sliding off one shoulder. And he watched a woman die today.

“Um. Ok.”

The little makeshift room is even smaller with three people in it, but Peter and May don’t seem bothered. Tony ends up on one side, Peter squashed next to him, May closest to the door for when the food arrives (that Tony insists on paying for).

They eat straight from the takeout containers, and when they’re done, Peter’s leg’s are tossed over Tony’s lap, sharing the same blanket as if there aren’t enough to go around.

May makes eye contact with him over Peter’s head where he leans against her shoulder.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she mouths. Tony has no idea what she’s thanking him for. If anything, he thinks as Peter laughs at the movie, he should be thanking her.


	3. The Third Day of Christmas

Tony was a decent cook—it was hardly rocket science, after all, and even if it was, Tony had learned rocket science when he was fifteen. He didn’t particularly enjoy spending hours cooking, preferred quick and easy meals, and usually followed the recipe on the back of the box. The only exceptions—the only treasured family recipes—were his mother’s lasagna, and Jarvis’ hot chocolate. The former he kept on a note card in her handwriting, the latter he’d learned only from watching his butler prepare it so often.

It’s been a long time since he’s had someone to make cocoa for. Tonight, however. Tonight there’s Peter, sitting in the living room of the compound with every Christmas light on as he watches the snow fall at one AM.

Tony leaves him to it for a few minutes, pulling out the supplies that he always stocks up on in the wintertime. When he returns, two steaming mugs in his hands, Peter’s in the same position, sideways on the couch to better see out the wall of windows.

He must have been very lost in his thoughts, because he jumps when Tony approaches.

“Sorry, bud,” Tony murmurs. For some reason, the atmosphere feels too peaceful to speak normally. He offers a mug and Peter takes it, looking surprised but grateful. He turns back to the windows, cradling the warm ceramic in his hands. Tony sits behind Peter, mimicking him and sitting sideways with his shoulder pressed into the cushion. Over Peter’s head, he can see the fat, white snowflakes falling to the ground.

They sit in silence for several long minutes, sipping at their hot chocolate.

“Are you having trouble sleeping, Pete?” Tony finally asks. If Peter is as much like Tony as everyone claims he is, the answer will be a resounding yes.

Peter shifts slightly so he can glance over his shoulder at Tony.

“I... I couldn’t figure out what that sound was.”

Tony furrows his brow. “What sound?”

“The rustling,” Peter says. Tony blinks, holds still so he can listen. He doesn’t hear anything.

“I can hear the snow falling, Mr. Stark.” He sounds slightly breathless at the thought. “I’ve never been out of the city when it’s snowed before. I didn’t realize I could hear it.”

Tony sits in shock for a moment. He can’t even fathom hearing something so delicate. “What does it sound like?”

Peter tilts his head to the side while he thinks. “Like feathers. But quieter.”

“Wow,” Tony says, impressed.

“And it just got me thinking,” Peter continues, turning to face the windows fully again. “Sometimes I forget how incredible my powers are. There are so many things I never would have dreamed of doing before the bite that are everyday for me now. And I get to do so much to help people and experience things no one else does and it’s just... really amazing.”

Tony switches his gaze from the falling snow to Peter in front of him, lit by the multi-colored Christmas lights and bundled up in an old hoodie.

How incredible is it, Tony thinks, that that spider just happened to bite _this kid_ of all the kids on that field trip, of all the people in that building. And that he just happened to use his newfound powers to help people when Tony just happened to be looking for someone to be on his side.

He looks down to his hands, to the empty mug he’s still holding. It just happened to be a kid that Tony would get up in the middle of the night to make his special, family-only hot cocoa for.

Fighting a sudden lump in his throat, Tony places his mug on the floor next to him, gently reaches around Peter and takes his mug as well. Then he wraps both arms around Peter and pulls him against his chest, lets the kid rest his head against Tony’s neck. Peter doesn’t resist, just leans back into Tony’s embrace.

Tony props his chin up on Peter’s shoulder, listens to his breathing for a minute.

“Yeah. It is amazing.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, it's the season of gratitude, and Tony is very very grateful for his spider-child


	4. The Fourth Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This does take place within my 'what you were then I am today' series. If you haven't read that, go read it! No, just kidding, but all you need to know is that Tony adopted Peter after May died and they got a dog named Maggie :)

 

Tony is in the kitchen when he hears barking. Considering how rarely Maggie barks, he’s instantly on high alert and rushes to the living room.

Instead of the attack he expects to find, he just sees Peter, standing at the floor to ceiling windows, grinning with slightly manic awe while Maggie stands next to him and barks at the foot and a half of undisturbed, glittering snow.

Peter turns when Tony enters, holding the package of coffee beans that he hadn’t taken the time to put down, and he’s still smiling.

“Maggie apparently thinks the snow is threatening,” Peter says, patting the dog on the head to calm her down.

“Apparently,” Tony agrees, coming closer to look out the window. It really is a beautiful sight, just white snow all the way to the tree line. Peter’s eyes are still wide as he looks out, a childlike glee buried under his older, more mature exterior.

“Well?” Tony asks after Peter continues to stand there.

Peter blinks at him. “Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to go outside? Run around, build a snowman, do whatever it is kids do on snow days?”

Peter looks so honestly shocked that Tony would laugh if it wasn’t so sad. It’s like Peter forgot he was a kid. He stands in silence for a second longer, looking torn, and finally Tony snaps.

“Ok, nope, come on,” he says, taking Peter’s wrist and dragging him over to the coat closet, where he spends five minutes ignoring Peter’s protests as he layers one of Rhodey’s old jackets and Steve’s scarf and Tony’s own gloves on the kid. He pulls out a pair of snow boots from the very back and gives Peter a look until the kid finally sighs and steps into them.

“Mags, come on,” Tony calls as he shepherds Peter to the door, pulling on his own coat as he goes.

He opens the back door and sucks in a breath as the cold rushes over him. Peter squints out at the lawn, the sun nearly blinding as it reflects off the snow.

Maggie sniffs hesitantly at the snow. She seems to decide that it’s safe because after a second she bounds forward. If she were a smaller dog she would have disappeared in it, but as it is she just gallops around in the snow, her tongue lolling past her teeth.

Peter chuckles as he watches her, but he’s still standing in the threshold.

“Jeez, kid, it’s like you don’t know what to do with yourself,” Tony says, gently nudging Peter further into the snow.

Peter shrugs. “I’ve never seen this much snow before,” he admits. While New York City got a good amount of snow every winter, there were so many people that before long it was plowed away, trampled down and dirtied before it could be enjoyed.

“How about you build a snowman?” Tony suggests. Peter looks at him for a second, then trudges out further into the snow. Tony watches him for a minute, waiting until he’s fully distracted packing together a large ball of snow while Maggie licks at his hands. Then Tony bends down, scoops up a handful of snow, forms it into a small ball, and chucks it at Peter.

Tony’s wide grin falters when Peter dodges it without looking. It freezes altogether when Peter slowly turns to look at him, his eyebrows raised.

“Did... did you just throw a snowball at me?” Peter asks, sounding stunned.

“It was Maggie,” Tony immediately lies.

“Maggie. The dog. Just threw a snowball at my head.” As he speaks, Peter’s hands are playing with a large ball of snow, smoothing it down.

“Yep.”

Peter doesn’t even reply, just throws his own projectile at Tony. Tony does his best to dodge, but he doesn’t have super spidey senses like Peter does.

He hears Peter laugh as the ice connects with his ear, making Tony splutter from the cold. He’d thrown it softly, so it didn’t hurt, but the snow melted down Tony’s collar making him shiver.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that, buddy,” Tony threatens as he shakes slush from his hair.

“You sure about that, tin man?” Peter taunts. Tony’s so shocked by the playful insult he doesn’t even try to dodge the next snowball Peter throws.

He recovers from that one faster, ducking immediately to scoop up another handful of weaponry, forming it as fast as he can and hurling it at Peter while the kid’s arming himself again.

Tony really wasn’t thinking when he engaged a superpowered teenager in a snowball fight. Once again, Peter ducks under the snowball. He sends a smirk at Tony, his cheeks pink with cold and his eyes bright. It’s worth the snowball that hits Tony in the arm.

Acknowledging that he is losing, Tony pulls out one last desperate attempt. While Maggie and Peter are much closer than Maggie and Tony, and she would never knowingly turn on Peter, the two of them spend a lot of time together while Peter’s at school, and he knows what never fails to get her attention.

“Maggie!” He calls in his most upbeat tone. The deerhound looks up, chunks of snow clinging to her gray fur. “Peter’s home!”

And just like that, Maggie turns from Tony to Peter and tackles him to the ground in greeting. Peter lets out a startled ‘oof’ as he goes down and disappears in the white powder. Cackling, Tony grabs an armful of snow and dashes over to the two of them.

Peter sits up just in time to get a shower of snow dumped on his head.

Gasping in surprise, Peter shakes the snow out of his eyes. Tony stands over him, grinning broadly, his hands and feet numb from cold.

Peter looks up at him and huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes. “That was cheating.”

“So was using your sixth sense to dodge all my snowballs,” Tony says, holding out a hand and hauling Peter to his feet. “Truce?” he asks, knowing that the cold is going to start getting to Peter soon.

Peter smiles broadly, and that’s the only warning Tony gets before Peter’s smashing a handful of snow directly into his face.

Tony stands stock still, lets the freezing stuff drip off his face.

“Truce,” Peter says, laughing through the word.

“You’re such a punk.” But Tony’s laughing too.

He leads the way back into the house, sheds sodden layers and watches as Peter does the same. While Peter gets a towel to dry Maggie off, Tony drifts back to the kitchen. Hot chocolate is in order, he thinks, to make sure Peter warms up. And just for that last attack, he does not get any marshmallows.

Peter returns a minute later, talks to Maggie quietly as he towels her down. His nose and ears are pink, and he’s still smiling a little.

 _Ok,_ Tony concedes, watching with unparalleled fondness. _He still gets marshmallows._

 


	5. The Fifth Day of Christmas

 

It’s hard to get in the Christmas spirit when you’re still recovering from the end of the world. Tony and Peter have looked a little pale, a little thin, since defeating Thanos. The whole team has really, but most of them are at the Compound, while Tony has moved back into the tower to be closer to Peter. They spend a lot of time together, trying to stave off the panic and, when they can’t do that, being comforted by the knowledge that at least their fear is understood.

“We’re going to the Rockefeller Center tree lighting,” Peter announces as soon as he walks in the lab. Tony blinks tiredly, looks up at him.

“We’re what?”

“It’s December, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, plopping down onto a stool and staring at Tony, his eyes almost pleading.

“I know. I’m not that far gone.” So he’d had to be reminded by FRIDAY that very morning. So what.

“So why haven’t you decorated?” Peter asks gently.

Tony takes a breath, looks around him. It’s true, the lab isn’t decorated, nor is any other part of the tower.

“I...” He starts. “I ca—I’m...”

“I know,” Peter cuts in. Tony looks him in the face and can see that he does. “But if we give into it, we’re just... feeding it. The-the fear. And the memories.”

 _I need this_ , Peter doesn’t say. _And so do you_.

“Rockefeller Center, huh? It’s going to be swarming with people.” Peter’s face brightens a little.

“I know. Nothing like a few thousand people singing Mariah Carey to get you in the Christmas mood,” he says, his grin dimmed slightly by the shadows in his eyes.

Tony bundles Peter up before they leave late that afternoon. Most people have probably been standing in line all day to get a good view, but Tony isn’t most people. A single call to someone on the committee gets Peter and Tony ushered toward the front. No one complains, in fact most people move to give them space: that’s what happens when you save the universe, Tony supposes. He wishes people would stop staring, though.

There’s an hour before the tree is lit up. There are performers, of course, and Peter half-heartedly cheers for them while Tony stares down everyone in the crowd, keeping an eye out for threats. It’s hard to relax with this many people around them and something so precious to protect, but he tries for Peter’s sake.

As the sky grows darker and darker, and lights around them start to turn on, Peter hisses through his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Tony immediately asks.

“Nothing,” Peter assures him. “I’m just... _really_ cold.”

Tony frowns—practically every inch of Peter is covered, except for his face and hands, which he has clenched around those disposable hand warmers that Tony bought in bulk come September.

“We can go,” Tony suggests, but Peter immediately shakes his head.

“No, I want to stay.” He hesitates for a second. “Can I just...?”

Tony’s about to ask what Peter wants when suddenly Peter is pressed up against his chest, arms circling his waist underneath Tony’s jacket to maximize on warmth.

Tony wraps his arms automatically around Peter’s shoulders, but he can’t help the little exclamation he makes when Peter’s nose presses against his pulse point.

“Holy—I’ve touched ice cubes warmer than your nose right now, bud.”

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, shivering.  

“’S ok,” Tony says, his voice soft. “Just try to warm up, alright?”

Peter hums, burrowing further against Tony’s throat. Tony does his best to shied him from the cold, one hand coming up to the back of his neck, where his scarf and jacket meet, to gently rub warmth into his skin. It’s a pity Peter’s wearing a beanie, Tony thinks, so he can’t run his hand through his hair.

As Peter’s chest rises and falls with each breath, Tony finds it easier and easier to relax. The lights around him somehow change from migraine-inducing to welcoming points of warmth, the festive music familiar and comforting where it once was deafening and obnoxious. Tony opens his eyes, finds a woman watching them. He smiles at her, half his face still pressed against Peter’s head. She smiles back, hoisting her own little girl into her arms.

Tony looks around and all the people that were threats before are just... people, now. New Yorkers wearing hideous Christmas sweaters and tourists with Broadway hoodies and I Heart NY hats, all waiting to see this Christmas tree light up to welcome in the season. Just people that Tony had almost died to save, that Peter _had_ died to save.

Peter’s getting heavier and heavier in his arms, curled into his shoulder.

“If you fall asleep, we’re both going down, Pete,” Tony reminds him, pulling gently on his ear to wake him up.

“Time is it?” Peter asks. As if in answer, the crowd around them starts counting down from ten, the giant billboards leading them along.

“Come on, kid, I know you want to see this,” Tony mutters. Peter lifts his head off of Tony’s shoulder, still wrapped up in his arms.

“Five, four, three,” Peter joins in counting, a soft smile on his face.

Tony turns his head and watches Peter as the countdown hits zero. He can see the reflection of the tree in the kid’s eyes.

The lights power on and the darkness that’s been haunting Peter’s eyes vanishes. His whole face glows in the radiance of forty-thousand Christmas lights, his mouth curving up in a smile.

Tony has never been religious, but he remembers his mother taking him to Christmas Mass as a child. The sermons were mostly boring and Tony spent the time staring at the stained glass windows, but he remembers, suddenly, vividly, the priest saying that Christmas was a season of hope.

He glances around them, at all the people cheering and staring up in wonder at the lights of the tree. When he looks back at Peter, there are tears in his eyes, and Tony doesn’t have to ask why because he understands.

A sliver of light, of hope, is taking seed in his chest where before there had only been grief and fear.

“How about you come over and help me decorate tomorrow?” Tony says into Peter’s ear.

Peter looks at him and smiles with brimming eyes. “Sounds good, Mr. Stark.”

A single tear spills over and Tony reaches up, wipes it away. Peter’s cheek is still cold, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you, Peter.”

Peter beams up at him. The Christmas tree pales in comparison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently all of these are just going to Tony musing over how much he loves his kid. I'm pretty ok with that, actually.


	6. The Sixth Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of yesterday's fic, because the prompts just happened to line up like that.

 

As promised, Peter shows up at the Tower the next day, where Tony is waiting with dusty boxes of Christmas decorations.

“Jeez, these look like they’re older than me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says.

“Some of them are. Be gentle,” Tony orders. Peter drags a finger through the film of dust on top of one of the crates, frowning at it. It’s definitely been collecting for more than a year, he deduces, then sneezes as the dust tickles his nose.

Tony sees him looking and quickly opens the boxes, hoping the glittering ornaments and lights will distract Peter from his train of thought.

“This is stuff for the living room,” Tony says. “Let’s start there.”

The tree is already up, a towering pine tree, not artificial like the scrawny one May and Peter put up every year cause their vacuum can’t handle all the needles.

Neither Tony or Peter are organized enough to have an actual method. Tony tries to find the garlands while Peter hangs stockings on the mantel. Christmas music is playing in the background. They’re both a little quiet, but they’re used to that by now.

After a little while, Peter pulls a tangle of lights from a box and plops down on the floor to unknot it.

“It’s like they come alive and tie themselves up,” Peter mutters after five minutes of unsuccessful work. Tony laughs but doesn’t say anything, concentrates on carefully unwrapping glass ornaments.

A few minutes later Peter lets out an grunt of annoyance, still tugging at the string of lights.

Tony looks up to tell him to leave it, he’ll just buy new, when a bulb shatters between Peter’s fingers and he drops his head into his hands.

“Kid,” Tony says, concerned, immediately dropping down in front of him. He drags Peter’s hands away from his face, looking for blood. “Are you hurt?”

“Why didn’t you decorate last Christmas, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, his voice breaking, and Tony had been so distracted by Peter’s hands that he hadn’t bothered to look at his face, hadn’t yet seen the tears in his eyes. But he does now.

Tony sighs, cups Peter’s hands between his as he settles cross-legged on the floor, their knees pressing together. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t,” Peter insists. “I was the one who tangled these lights. And you said you’d have to buy new and I promised I could undo them.”

“I knew you couldn’t,” Tony teases, but Peter doesn’t take the bait. Tony squeezes both of Peter’s hands before answering. “I decorated last Christmas. Not last year.”

Peter looks confused, tears still shimmering in his eyes.

“It’s not Christmas if you’re not here, Peter.”

He catches the first tear that falls with his finger.

“You were  _dead_. How could I have possibly celebrated anything?” Tony whispers.

Peter half-swallows a sob. “Tony,” he whimpers. Tony shushes him gently, lays his palm on Peter’s cheek.

“I have to sleep with the lights on,” Peter breathes. It’s a confession, one that encapsulates everything that has felt so wrong about the holiday this year. “Sometimes May comes in my room and turns them off and I wake up and I can’t remember if I’m alive.”  

“That’s ok,” Tony says, like his heart isn’t breaking. “That’s ok, Petey. It’s Christmas. There are lights everywhere.” Without removing his hand from Peter’s face, Tony reaches over and plugs in the lights. The bundle of tangled wires in Peter’s lap lights up. It makes the tear-tracks on Peter’s face gleam.

Tony tips Peter’s head forward, kisses his forehead once, twice. “We’ll keep them on all night, Peter. I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, someone really missed the memo on the fluff, huh. It was me, I missed it.


	7. The Seventh Day of Christmas

“Peter?”

Peter stopped dead, slowly turning to sheepishly smile at the voice that had called his name.

“Hi, Colonel Rhodes,” he said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Rhodey’s eyebrow creeped up. “I’m wondering why you’re sneaking out of the tower at 6 AM when you should be in the medbay resting.”

Peter fidgeted where he stood, favoring his injured side. “Oh, just... wanted a little air.”

“Uh-huh. How’d you even get passed Tony, kid?” Rhodes asked. Last he’d seen, Tony had been camped out in the chair right next to Peter’s bed, his feet propped up on the covers while he held Peter’s hand.

“Um... with a lot of effort. Look, I know I’m not supposed to be up yet, but there’s something really important I have to do,” Peter said, his big eyes pleading. Rhodey pursed his lips—the puppy dog eyes were hard to say no to, but he had a slightly better record against them than Tony.

“What do you need to do?”

Peter sighed, his shoulders dropping. “I... It’s Christmas Eve. And I don’t have a present for Mr. Stark yet. That’s where I was going when Doc Ock showed up and then...” And then he was hurt and stuck in the medbay, he didn’t say.

“Peter,” Rhodey scolded gently. “You know what Tony wants for Christmas?”

Peter looked up at him, shook his head, listening intently.

“He wants you alive and well. That’s it.”

Peter sagged. “I can’t just show up on Christmas and hold my arms out and say ‘here’s your present, Mr. Stark, sorry I didn’t put a bow on it.’”

Rhodey laughed, crossing the space and putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder to lead him back to bed.

“Sure you can. I know this is sappy as heck, but... kid, you’re the greatest gift he could ever get.”

Instead of blushing and stammering like Rhodey expected, Peter stood up straighter, his eyes alight.

“That’s brilliant! Thank you, Colonel Rhodes!”

Rhodey had no idea what the kid meant, and he didn’t get a chance to ask.

“Pete!” Tony called from down the hall.

“Uh-oh,” Peter muttered. Rhodey smirked.

Tony appeared around the corner, looking stressed. His shoulders immediately loosened when he saw Peter standing there.

“Pete,” he breathed. “You scared me. You alright?”

Rhodey stepped back to let Tony take up his customary place at Peter’s side. Tony looked him over intently, as if some injury might have cropped up on the walk from the medbay.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, his voice softer than it had been when he’d been speaking to Rhodey. “I just needed to stretch my legs.”

“You should have woken me,” Tony gently chided. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder and started herding him back toward the medbay.

Rhodey watched as Peter leaned into Tony’s side, his face betraying a little bit of fatigue and pain.

Tony clapped Rhodey on the shoulder as they passed, sending him a small smile of gratitude. As they left, Peter looked over his shoulder and sent Rhodey a big smile, winking subtly. Rhodey shook his head, laughing under his breath. Tomorrow was sure to be interesting.

 


	8. The Eighth Day of Christmas

When Miss Potts asked him for a favor, Peter really hadn’t been expecting this.

“You want me to… hang out with Tony?” He asked, just for clarification.

“Emphasis on the ‘out’ part,” Pepper said. “I just need him out of the house for a couple hours. You can manage that, right?”

“Sure,” Peter agreed. “But that’s hardly a favor, Miss Potts.”

Pepper smiled, letting out a small ‘aw’ and then laughing when Peter blushed.

Peter took Mr. Stark to the Christmas Village in Queens. When he’d invited the man, Mr. Stark had seemed honestly confused.

“Don’t you have friends to go with?” he asked, apparently concerned about Peter’s social life.

“Yeah,” Peter said, shrugging, “but I want to go with you.”

Mr. Stark had agreed pretty much immediately, that same dopey smile on his face that Pepper had had that Peter didn’t quite understand.

It was snowing when they arrived at the outdoor market. Peter was thoroughly protected from the cold with multiple layers, and that was only helped when the first thing Tony did upon arriving was buy cups of hot chocolate for both of them.

They wandered through the stalls, admiring the little trinkets and hand-crafted baubles. Tony seemed perfectly happy to follow Peter around, looking at what he wanted to. He also liked to find the tackiest sweaters and scariest Santa statues to offer to buy Peter, making him laugh so hard at one point he got hot chocolate up his nose and Tony had started crying he was cackling so hard.

All in all, Peter was more content and warm with love than he’d been in a long time.

He kept one eye on the clock, and was disappointed to see the time speed by. The snow was falling thicker as the sky grew darker, fairy lights and street lamps flicking on.

“What do you say, kiddo, ready to head home?” Tony asked, adjusting Peter’s collar to better keep the snow out.

In all honesty, no. Peter wanted to stay here, laughing and joking and pretending like they were one of the other normal families that were all around them.

“Let’s just look at this last stall, Mr. Stark. And then we can go.”

Tony smiled, gestured for Peter to lead the way. The last stall was a metal-worker’s booth, with tiny, delicate steel and iron figurines and contraptions.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter called, pulling the man back to his side.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Look how cool this is.” He bent down and demonstrated the miniature globe he’d found, with a map of the stars hovering above it in fine filigree.

He looked up at Tony and smiled. Tony’s entire being seemed to soften, looking at Peter with a light in his eyes that made Peter’s face flush a little.

“You’re adorable,” Tony said, smiling softly. Peter scrunched up his nose in confusion and Tony laughed quietly. “I mean, look at you, kid. You’re all bundled up and enthusiastic and you’ve got snow in your hair.” As if to prove it, Tony reached up and ruffled Peter’s curls, sending a few unmelted flakes of snow tumbling down.

Peter didn’t have anything to say to that, just blushed darker and hunched into his coat further. Tony laughed again and turned away, examining the thing Peter had shown him. Peter watched him for a second, his heart beating a little harder in his chest, a warm zing of approval burning in his stomach.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter said again.

“Yeah, buddy?” Tony repeated, looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“I love you a lot.”

He’d said it before, once or twice, but not enough judging by the way Tony’s lips parted in shock, his eyes wide. Peter could hear his heart trip over itself.

“I-I…” Tony stuttered, rendered utterly speechless. “Wh—What do you want, Pete?” He finally asked, chuckling slightly as he tried to make light of Peter’s words and how obviously they affected him.

“I want you to know that,” Peter said simply.    

Tony floundered again for a second, then choked out, “Ok.”

If there were tears in his eyes, Peter didn’t get a chance to see them before Tony pulled him into a hug, hand warm as it pressed Peter’s head into Tony’s shoulder, holding him close. The snow continued to softly fall around them


	9. The Ninth Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! And out of order. I might have to fix that.

“Hey, Mr. Stark! So I was thinking that—woah. Are you ok?” Peter asked as he tripped into the lab. Tony sniffed, looked up at him, squinting against the bright lab lights.

“’Course. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look kind of sick. Your nose is all red and you’re pale and everything.”

Tony scoffed. “I don’t get sick, kid. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Peter dutifully sat down and got to work. The next few hours were passed in quiet, Tony’s head hurting too much to chat.

“Um, could we turn the lights down? They’re hurting my eyes,” Peter interrupted the quiet to say. Tony gladly gave the order, the dimmer lights helping his own pounding headache.

“Thanks.”

And then, another stretch of silence later. “Can we get soup for lunch, Mr. Stark? That sounds good right now.” So Tony ordered soup for both of them, getting chicken noodle just because it was his favorite and _not_ because he was sick, because he wasn’t.

“Hey, Mr. Stark, it’s really cold in here. Would it be alright if we turned the heat up a little?” Peter asked a little while later.

“Sure, kid,” Tony said, his own shivering decreasing as warm air seeped into the room.

At some point, Peter moved from his desk to the couch in the corner of the lab to work on his homework. Tony left him to it, staring at his own project and not comprehending most of it. He paused in his contemplation to blow his nose, tossing the tissue into the trash, adding to the steadily growing pile.

Peter groaned, suddenly, and Tony looked up.

“What’s up, Pete?”

“I don’t understand this question,” Peter confessed, looking abashed. “Could you come take a look?”

Tony sighed and wanted to ask Peter to come to him instead—the thought of getting up and crossing the room was daunting—but he just stood slowly, blinking dark spots out of his vision as he did, and went to the couch. He leaned over, trying to see the problem.

“Here,” Peter said, moving a stack of books and patting the seat next to him. Tony sat, sinking gratefully into the soft, time-worn cushions.

“So, we’re doing kinetic energy problems in physics, which is fine, super easy, but there’s this one question that wants me to convert—” Peter started rambling, flipping through pages of his book. Tony tried to listen, he really did, but he was full of good soup, and the lights were dim, and Peter’s voice was familiar and comforting, and he was _so tired._ His eyes drifted closed before he could stop them.

He wasn’t really asleep by the time Peter’s voice faded to nothing. He registered the blanket being spread over him, the arm snaking carefully around his shoulders to pull his head down onto a bony shoulder.

 _Sneaky_ , he thought hazily. _All of those requests were him trying to take care of me._

Peter’s breathing was steady, his heartbeat even under Tony’s ear. He smelled like hair gel and the spandex of his Spider-Man suit from swinging over to the tower. And he was warm, really, really warm while Tony was still shivering a little bit.

 _It wouldn’t hurt to fall asleep here,_ Tony reasoned.

His neck disagreed. After a few moments of quiet, where he could practically feel Peter celebrating his victory, the crick in his neck finally hurt too much to ignore.

“Peter,” Tony muttered.

“Hmm?” Peter hummed, sounding almost asleep himself.

“You’re really too short for this to be comfortable.”

“Oh,” Peter hurriedly said, moving to jerk away as if embarrassed.

Tony didn’t even open his eyes, just blindly wrapped an arm around Peter’s ribs and shifted them so Tony was laying back against the arm of the couch while Peter leaned against him, chest to chest. Tony tucked Peter under his chin, folded the edge of the large quilt over the both of them.

“That’s better.” Peter seemed to agree, because the weight on Tony’s chest grew heavier as Peter fell asleep. Tony stayed awake just long enough to whisper a small, “thanks, bud,” into Peter’s hair.


	10. The Tenth Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is the wrong day. I also know it's a day late. Life has been crazy. Day nine will come and I will put them in the proper order, but for now enjoy day ten and eleven

“You can’t go out like that,” Mr. Stark said, looking at Peter with furrowed brows. Peter looked down at his hoodie.

“I’ll be fine,” Peter insisted, shrugging.

“Teenage boys, I swear,” Mr. Stark muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. He stood from his desk and started towing Peter along by his wrist toward the coat closet. Peter groaned as he watched Tony pull out a large stack of coats, scarves, gloves, and a hat.

“This is excessive,” Peter groused as Tony began manhandling him into the first of the coats.

“It’s three degrees outside, Peter. _Three_.” He held up three fingers to emphasize his point. “Do you know what spiders do when it’s three degrees?”

“They die,” Peter sighed.

“They _die_. And what do we want to avoid?”

“Umm... death?” Peter guessed half-heartedly. Tony was now wrapping a scarf multiple times around Peter’s neck, covering most of his mouth and chin.

“I don’t appreciate how uncertain you sounded about that, kid,” Tony scolded. He finished the ensemble by tugging a knitted hat onto Peter’s head, so low it nearly hid his eyes.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, his voice muffled from behind the folds of wool scarf. “I look like that kid from _A Christmas Story._ ”

“Yeah, you do,” Tony laughed.

“I look like an idiot.”

Tony stood back and observed him for a second. “No, you don’t, you look cute.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You have to say that, you’re my—” He cut off, the little sliver of his cheeks visible turning pink.

A slow smile started curling the corners of Tony’s mouth. “Your...?”

“I’m going to go freeze to death now,” Peter said, making to take off his layers.

Tony stopped his hands, laughing gently. He leaned forward as if to kiss Peter’s forehead, then realized that his forehead was covered and ended up kissing the tip of his nose instead.

Peter’s blush intensified to bright red.

“Have fun at the movies, Pete. Call me when it’s over, I don’t want you walking home in the dark.”

“Ok, _Dad_ ,” Peter said, and it sounded like a joke, but they both knew it wasn’t.


	11. The Eleventh Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This also takes place in the 'what you were then' series and is dedicated to bean_reads_fanfic for her idea of Maggie in a Santa hat.

Christmas in the Parker-Stark household comes with a slight hesitance that Tony isn’t sure how to address. It’s Peter’s first Christmas since May died. Tony knows that the Christmas after his parents died was spent in a drunken haze, probably involving him crying in the bathroom as he threw up. Which is definitely not something Tony ever, ever wants Peter to imitate.

Tony decides to bite the bullet in early December and decorates. He’s pleasantly surprised that, when Peter sees the tree Tony is hauling into the Compound, he sticks around, helps him hang ornaments and strings of light while they dodge Maggie’s paws. It had been a good night, but Peter’s melancholy had been apparent in his face.

When Tony had asked what Peter wanted for Christmas, he could see the biting answer of ‘I want my family to be alive’ forming on his tongue before Peter had schooled himself and shrugged, murmuring a soft “I don’t know.”

As the day grew closer, Peter got quieter. Tony couldn’t blame him, but he tried to pull him out of his shell all the same. He thinks that Peter has caught on to his attempts, and does his best to let himself be distracted.

Today, a slow dawning Christmas Eve, Peter is warm and softly affectionate. He lets Tony make him breakfast, insists on washing the dishes. They spend the morning working on a puzzle of all things, with Maggie laying on the floor next to them and Christmas movies playing one after another in the background. Then Peter takes a nap while Tony sneaks off to his room and wraps the presents he’s bought Peter.

Later that evening, Peter shyly asks if they can make cookies. Tony blinks, a little surprised.

“Oh, uh... of course, kiddo. Let’s... do you have a recipe?”

Peter shrugs. “May and I just usually used the premade stuff from the store.”

Tony does his best to hide his sudden understanding. “Well, we can go get some if you want,” he says hurriedly.

Peter sends him a small smile, but shakes his head. “Let’s make them from scratch.”

“Ok.” Tony gets it. He wants to keep the tradition without trying to replace May.

They make sugar cookies from a recipe FRIDAY pulls off the internet. Peter stays close to Tony’s side, brushing elbows and shoulders as they crack eggs and measure sugar. Peter gets a stripe of flour on his cheek and when Tony brushes it off, Peter closes his eyes like he’s savoring the touch. Something warm and tender erupts in Tony’s stomach.

Maggie manages to steal half a cookie when they pull them out of the oven, and Peter puts a Santa hat on her in punishment. They frost them, badly, with Iron Man and Spider-Man symbols, and with a silent, mutual understanding, they leave a plate on the coffee table, illuminated by the lights on the tree.

Tony makes Peter drink a mug of hot chocolate before bed, hoping that having something warm in his stomach will help him sleep. Peter knows what he’s doing but drinks it all anyway, curled in the corner of the couch with drooping eyelids.

There are no presents for Peter under the tree yet. He knows the kid doesn’t believe in Santa, but it’s fun playing along anyway. And he wants everything to be a surprise.

He’s never had a Christmas with a kid in the house before. And he knows Peter is sixteen and already world-weary, but there’s something about him being here that makes Tony excited for tomorrow morning in a way he hasn’t been in... ever, really. He’s excited to watch Peter’s face as he opens his presents, excited for the mess of wrapping paper and boxes, for Maggie with bows stuck to her head.

Tony sits by Peter, rubs his knee gently. “You’ve got to go to bed, buddy, or Santa won’t come.”

Peter breathes a laugh, his eyes still closed. Tony pulls the mug from his hands and sets it on the coffee table.

He wishes Peter was small enough for Tony to carry him. He’s found himself wishing similar things over the last months—that Peter was too young to know how to lie, too naïve to expect to be hurt. He longs for the moments he missed in Peter’s childhood, his first word and first day of school and learning how to ride a bike. It’s foolish and unfair—May and Ben raised the best kid in the world, and Tony can hardly be trusted with a sixteen year old let alone a six year old, but he can’t help it. Peter is the best thing he’s ever known, and he wants more of him.

Maggie walks up, the Santa hat tilted over one ear, and nudges Peter’s foot.

“Alright,” Peter mutters, “I’m coming.”

Tony smiles at him. “I’ll see you in the morning, ok?” He goes to ruffles Peter’s hair, ends up slowly running his hand through it and looking at Peter cause he’s a sap like that now. Peter hums softly as Tony’s fingers brush along his jaw.

“Goodnight, Tony. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Peter.”

As Peter shuffled off, Tony looked after him, thinking that despite the sorrow that was sure to follow Peter tomorrow, it will actually be a merry Christmas this year.


	12. The Twelfth Day of Christmas

This Christmas, Tony would easily admit to himself, was the best he’d had in _years._ He’d never understood why people would bother travelling hundreds of miles to be with family for the holiday—he personally travelled across the country to be away from his dad as much as possible—but as he stood, watching Rhodey and May and Peter play a dumb card game one of them had gotten, he thought that he’d fly across the galaxy just to be with these people.

But still, he was a bit of a loner by habit, and after a few minutes of watching Peter trounce the two adults, he stole away to his lab, just for a moment or two of alone time.

Instead of tinkering, Tony pulled out the homemade DVD Peter had given him, blushing and not making eye contact, that morning. A holographic screen flickered to life, and after a moment, a shaky video started, showing a small living room, toys scattered on the floor.

The second the kid appeared on screen, Tony knew what this was. Those big brown eyes were unmistakable.

They were videos of Peter as a child—birthdays and holidays and random moments in between. They started when Peter was just a baby, maybe six months old, and slowly, Tony watched the years progress through Peter’s life.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” a voice said a few feet to his left. Tony looked over, found Peter looking a little sheepish and a little pleased at the same time. The Peter on the screen—a four-year-old who stuttered and tripped over his feet in his enthusiasm—laughed as his dad caught him into his arms and lifted him in the air.

“Pete. Come here, kid,” Tony said, gesturing for Peter to sit next to him. Peter did, their shoulders brushing, but for some reason—perhaps cause he was watching videos of a little child who loved being hugged and kissed—Tony wrapped an arm around him and pulled him half into his lap.

Peter leaned into his side, curling his knees up toward Tony’s ribs to get comfortable. “I know it’s sort of a dumb gift,” Peter started, and Tony cut him off.

“No. No, it’s... it’s perfect, Peter.” The little six-year-old Peter in the video was showing off his first science fair project—a simple little project about water displacement that was impressive for a kindergartener. It was before Peter had broken his nose, twice, and Tony smiled as little Peter wrinkled his nose in pleasure at his mom’s praise.

And maybe it’s because it was Christmas and he was warm and content and he’d spent the whole day with his family and was a little drunk on emotion, but as he watched he couldn’t help but say, “I wish I’d been there for all of this.”

He could feel Peter looking at him, and he knew why. Tony had no right to these moments. He wasn’t Peter’s dad, he wasn’t blood. He barely had a right to Peter now and here he was stealing him away from May on Christmas.

But Peter surprised him, because that’s what Peter did best. “I wish you were, too.”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, let the sincerity was over him.

“Peter... I-“ he started, swallowing hard. He rubbed Peter’s arm, pulled him more firmly into his embrace. Peter slotted into his side like he was meant to be there.

On the screen, eight-year-old Peter Parker was dressed up as Iron Man for Halloween. It was only three months after Tony had first announced his secret identity. Peter held up his gauntlet for the camera, saying in his young voice, “I am Iron Man.”

Peter turned his face into Tony’s neck like he was embarrassed. Tony ducked his head and rested his cheek against Peter’s hair.

He didn’t know how to say this; everything he was feeling was big and messy and humiliating and important and he was good with words, but not when it mattered so very much.

“I’m going to save people just like Iron Man when I grow up,” Peter chirped in the video.

Tony smiled.

“You saved me, Peter Parker,” he whispered.

Peter picked his head up, his eyes bright in the dim light of the lab.

“Merry Christmas, Tony,” Peter said.

Tony pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Merry Christmas, little one.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking through all 12 days of this. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas!


End file.
